Thor's Garden
by Astreich689
Summary: "You know what else is gorgeous?" he whispers, with just enough force for you to catch it. You are tense, terrified even, knowing exactly what he's going to say but terrified of it still. "You." The fireworks are at their grandest, peaking their final crescendo, when he closes the distance. A fluffy Liam Payne x You Oneshot.


**(A/N:) I admit this is nothing like the things that I typically post, but after watching last night's Fourth of July fireworks, I got inspired. So inspired, in fact, that I was writing until three in the morning, trying to make this perfect. I hope you enjoy Thor's Garden, and definitely try to put yourself in the character's shoes (that's what it's for, after all). Even if you don't enjoy, this was fun for me to write (I was grinning like a madwoman the whole time) and that's what _really _matters, isn't it?**

* * *

There can be no silent place on the Fourth of July. All day, all night, there is lively bustle and cheer on the faces of the people, as the festivities commence and last for hours. When the lights begin to dim, children light their sparklers and run around the city, chasing one another until they are too afraid to wander any further. The adults flip the burgers on the barbecue, or lounge around the lawn in chairs, making loud conversation and not caring what others may think. They are given a day to celebrate, so of course, they will celebrate it.

As night steadily creeps nearer, you begin to seek escape from the turbulent activity that fills your own home. You push past your family, but not before your younger brother manages to thrust a plastic flag into your arms, looking smug before he turns away. Your mother wishes you luck on your way out, but your father just huffs in annoyance. He doesn't approve; yet, for once, you don't take his judgment into account. This was your decision, not his, and you know a small part of him respects that even though he doesn't like it.

To your friends, you are busy for the night. To your close friends, you're just another happy lovebird, and though you could tell they were jealous at first, they're absolutely at your back now, which is relieving. Even though you trust them, however, you kill your phone and stuff it back in the pockets of your jean shorts. You wouldn't want them, even on accident, to ruin a moment.

All in all, you aren't dressed for a date; you have on a gray sweatshirt with some football insignia decorating the front, the sleeves rolled up so neither the heat nor cold can reach you. Along with the jean shorts, which are mid-thigh length, nothing too flashy, you have on comfortable flip-flops and a woven-grass anklet. Your hair is tied back loosely in a ponytail, though some bangs have escaped and now hang around your face in what you think is a cute fashion. You don't have on any real jewelry or makeup, because you've decided you wanted him to see _you, _not a perfect porcelain doll in your place. He said himself this was the charm he fell in love with in the first place, so you'd rather not go and change that today of all days.

Your friends had asked before you left, quite earnestly, if you were even trying to keep the boy. You laughed them off then, but now you're starting to have serious second thoughts. Is this . . . too casual?

Then you shake off the nerves and make your way to the meeting place. By strange intuition, you have a feeling that he won't judge you based on what you're wearing. It makes you smile.

The place, as an exception, is quiet, even today. The silence is marred only by natural noises and the occasional airplane, which become less and less frequent as the night progresses. You are high up on a hill, in a wide clearing ringed with trees. The sky is clearly visible in all directions, and it is perfectly clear, with stars just beginning to show their twinkling lights. You lay out a blanket on the grass and make yourself comfortable. He warned you that it could be some time before he made it, so you aren't worried when he fails to make an entrance right away. The light on the horizon begins to dim eventually and you smile softly, closing your eyes. Crickets chirp in the tall grasses a distance away, and night birds coo to one another quietly at odd intervals. The sound is incessant but soothing, and calms whatever nerves you had in the first place.

Then a sudden great boom shakes you back to life. You rocket up to a sitting position, noticing two things right away: 1) the fireworks have started, hence your rough awakening, and 2) _he _is there, laying on the blanket and chortling to himself as he watches you. His chocolate-brown eyes are alight with mirth.

"What are you laughing at?" you grumble in his general direction, plopping back down.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry in the slightest, "I didn't feel like waking you up. You're too pretty asleep." You blush at the compliment, but hope that the now-total darkness is enough to mask it.

"So I'm not pretty when I'm awake?" you question. You try to sound angry, or maybe just annoyed, but even to your ears it fails miserably.

In response, he laughs and reaches out to ruffle your hair. When you pout, he smooths it back the way it was, gently, so it doesn't hurt. "You're always pretty."

Looking at him though, the compliment honestly becomes hard to believe. He's wearing a simple plaid button-down shirt and a pair of tight ripped jeans with Converse, which obviously isn't anything fancy. Even in the dark, however, even with the loose shirt attempting to camouflage it, you can see his body is muscled, toned to perfection in a way yours isn't. Dark brown curly locks frame his face, each one outlined a different hue as the explosions continue above you both. The face itself has crinkles under the eyes where his smiles reach, showing to the world what kind of sweet, wonderful person he is. He is someone you can approach without fear of being judged, cast away, or demoralized. Those eyes never taunt, are always laughing instead. He has times when he becomes serious, but you know he never truly can be, deep down. Even the so-called imperfections, like the birthmark on his neck, only add to the surreal beauty of the image, the image of perfection in an imperfect world.

Truthfully, it makes you feel like you aren't enough. Like no matter how hard you try, you never will be enough. But he always knows when you think things like this, and he doesn't like it, so you command yourself to banish these sick daydreams before he notices. The least you can do is let him enjoy his short visit here to the fullest.

Subtly, you move closer, so just your shoulders are brushing, but he realizes what you are doing. In an almost shy way, he reaches for your hand, and when you don't resist, intertwines his fingers with yours. You don't say anything, for fear of shattering the moment, and direct your attention to the sky once again.

The brilliant flowers among the stars are growing brighter, louder, and you can almost hear the music in the distance grow louder as well. Suddenly, an orchid blooms before your eyes, and begins to fall toward you in a sparkling downward spiral. You don't realize your breath has been stolen until you need to gasp for air. "It's _gorgeous,_" you exclaim in awe, squeezing his hand tightly.

You feel him disentangling himself from your fingers and slowly twist to face you, so you hasten to do the same, blushing for reasons unknown. Both of you eventually sit up, and you are mesmerized by his reflective chocolate eyes. Within them is mirror each explosion, each individual of a million stars, and the gleaming yellow full moon. You want to lean in and look closer, get lost in those orbs hopefully forever, and just barely resist the urge to move, catching yourself on time.

"You know what else is gorgeous?" he whispers, with just enough force for you to catch it. And then, you know what's coming so suddenly that it's like you've been whacked upside the head by a speeding express train. If this had been Louis, he'd have it be a joke, like "Your arse right before you dive into the pool." If it had been Niall, the answer would be "Nando's chicken." But this is Liam. _Liam._

He leans in slowly, and you can tell you aren't breathing, though you can't do a thing about it. Quickly, he becomes so close it seems as though all you see are your nervous eyes, reflected in his own. "You." He just mouths it, not even breathing the word to life, but you understand with perfect clarity.

"Liam, I-" you begin to protest, but he puts a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. You _know _you are not gorgeous, or even remotely beautiful. Not now, not ever, especially when next to someone like _him. _You want to voice these concerns, but he won't let you. He will not hear them.

"To me, you are more . . . more _astoundingly _beautiful than all of Thor's garden put together," he says, gesturing at the sky with his free hand. "I just need _you _to believe it."

The fireworks are at their grandest, peaking their final crescendo, when he closes the distance. As your lips meet, you just accept it, and suddenly, just for this second, everything in the world becomes perfect.

* * *

**(A/N:) So what did you think? Fluffy, ne? Normally, I would ask you to leave your thoughts in a review down below, but since this isn't a normal fic, and we're also celebrating our grand free country, I'll leave you to decide. =P Well, I'm off to bed. Cheerio, lads and ladies. XD**

**~~~Astreich**


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